


Forgot

by what_a_dork_fish



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Child Abuse, Mental Breakdown, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 07:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15552657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_a_dork_fish/pseuds/what_a_dork_fish
Summary: Charles can't remember very well.





	Forgot

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes I am projecting is there a problem with that?

He was crying and he couldn’t stop.

It was scary. He just… couldn’t stop. He held his breath. He screamed into his pillow. He covered his mouth with his hands. Nothing could stop his crying.

Mother had finally snapped and hit him across the face with a bottle. Cain had laughed and Kurt just stood there, watching impassively. None of the servants had dared step in. Not even when Mother broke the bottle and advanced on her son, her face twisted into the most horrible snarl.

He’d run then.

He’d hid in the orchard, trembling, too terrified to even cry. The butler had to come find him and carry him up to the house, because he’d tried to run again, and he squirmed and whimpered and fought, but he was taken back to that horrible place anyway.

Mother had passed out from drink by then. Kurt was in his lab. Cain was who knew where. Charles was taken to his room and left there.

He immediately dragged the wardrobe in front of his door, fear giving him strength, and hid under his bed with his pillow.

And then he’d started sobbing.

Eventually he fell into an exhausted sleep. He had nightmares. He always did these days.

~

“Charles?”

The voice was muffled, but his eyes snapped open anyway, and his heartbeat sped up to a painful rate. It took him a moment to recognize that the voice belonged to his governess.

Slowly, he emerged from under his bed. Slowly, he pushed the wardrobe out of the way. Slowly, he opened the door.

His governess was standing there, looking concerned. “Charles, dear, your mother told me to let you know that I’m leaving,” she said.

Charles didn’t cry. He was too empty for that. “Okay,” he whispered.

“You’re going to be sent to a boarding school. Do you need my help packing?”

He shook his head.

“Alright.” The governess hesitated, then bent down and kissed his head gently. “Good luck, Charles.”

And she left.

Charles closed his door and dragged his wardrobe back across it.

~

Mother and Kurt didn’t even acknowledge his presence while he was packed up and sent to the car. Cain made an appearance, but only to kick Charles down the stairs.

The maids swooped in and picked Charles up, but he said nothing and did not cry.

He was driven to the port and the butler stayed with him until it was time to board. Then he was shooed on to the ship and abandoned.

Charles was glad.

He had a cabin to himself. He locked himself in and stayed there for the entire week-long journey.

He was greeted by a snappish man who took his silence for insolence. Charles didn’t correct him. He just did as he was told promptly and to the best of his abilities. He didn’t want to make waves. Didn’t want to stir up trouble. Didn’t want to be reminded.

Mother had been prepared to kill him.

They would have let her. All of them.

He tried to breathe calmly.

The taxi stopped in front of a gate. The snappish man got out and waited impatiently for Charles to follow. He did so, still half-blinded by remembered fear.

Charles and the snappish man were walking across a courtyard when someone shouted gleefully, “FRESH MEAT!”

That set off a clamor of voices all around them, and Charles kept his head down, ignoring them all. Maybe they’d leave him alone if he didn’t respond. That wasn’t what Cain had done, but maybe it would be different here. God, please, let it be different here.

~

He didn’t remember his years of school very well.

~

When he was eleven, his mother died. He didn’t go to the funeral. Kurt had “forgotten” to wire him the money for a ticket home. That was alright.

When he was fourteen, he was banished back to New York for the summer. That was the summer that Kurt died and Cain ran away. That was what they told Charles, at least. He couldn’t remember.

He was glad he couldn’t remember. He didn’t want to. He was losing memories of when he was younger, too; they were fading like bleached cloth, and he didn’t care.

The psychiatrists poked at him, tried to make him remember, but every time he got close to the memories he started shaking and crying and then his mind would go blank and he would shut down completely.

If he kept very quiet and was very good, maybe they would leave him alone.

He went back to school. There was nothing else he could do. His inheritance was held in trust. His legal guardian didn’t want him around. He was scared.

Charles supposed he must have done well in school, because he got a place at Oxford easily enough. His memory was still patchy and unreliable, but he was more knowledgeable now. If he needed to know something, it was in his head somewhere. So he must’ve learned a lot.

Shakily, he built a life for himself. He got a job as a waiter at a local restaurant. He got a flat. He made friends. He had a girlfriend for a while, but when she tried to have sex with him he shut down. So they broke up. He found his calling, which was good, he supposed.

When his Literature professor told the class to write about their happiest childhood memory, he just stared at her, uncomprehending. Everyone else was writing, but he… he couldn’t remember. He really couldn’t.

“Charles? What’s wrong?”

“I…” He fought the urge to shut down. “I don’t remember anything from when I was a child.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“I don’t remember,” he repeated. He was shaking now.

“Surely you must remember _something_.”

“No. Nothing.” Fear coiled in his gut and squeezed his throat. He gripped his pencil so hard it creaked. He could feel panic creeping closer.

She frowned harder. “I don’t believe you,” she said flatly.

He couldn’t speak without bursting into tears. So he looked down at his notebook.

“Write something.”

He searched his memory, he really did. Anything. Anything. Anything that had brought him happiness.

He couldn’t remember.

The professor made a disgusted noise. “Fine. Make something up,” she snapped, and walked away.

He did so. Something asinine about a dog. He wasn’t even sure what it was, because he kept changing things.

“This is hardly your best work,” the professor said tartly when he handed it in.

He went back to his seat silently and did his best to be quiet and good.

~

Charles was just walking home from class when he found himself surrounded by bigger men. He froze, and waited.

One of them had a bottle. He hit Charles across the face with it.

MotherhadfinallysnappedandhithimacrossthefacewithabottleCainhadlaughedandKurtjuststoodtherewatchingimpassivelyNoneoftheservantshaddaredstepinnotevenwhenMotherbrokethebottle

Charles came back to himself curled up on the pavement with broken bones and absolutely no memory of where he was.

~

He came to class the day he was let out of hospital, of course. He was covered in bandages and his arm was in a sling, but he did it anyway. He ignored all whispers and concerned looks. He was quiet and good and everyone left him alone.

When he showed up to work, his boss sent him home.

He sat on his sofa and stared at his television, which was switched off. He had nothing to do. He’d worked ahead in his classes. He’d read all his books. His friends were all doing things.

He stared at the television and let his mind go blank.

As usual, after a while, he felt that odd detachment. He wasn’t there anymore. His body wasn’t real. Nothing was real. It was all a hazy illusion. The only thing real was the great yawning cavern where his past was and the blank wall that was his present.

He had no future. He knew that. It hurt, but he was used to it. And the detachment took him far far away to a place where he didn’t hurt anymore.

~

There was a new fellow in class.

He was quiet. That was what Charles noticed first. He was quiet and good, but not out of fear. He did it to hide a great anger, an anger that made him scary and threatening without trying.

Charles didn’t know what was going on when the new guy chose to sit with him at lunch. They didn’t talk. They ignored each other, both of them doing their homework in silence as they ate. It was still strange.

Eventually, Charles learned that his name was Erik Lehnsherr, and he was German, and he had no friends. He didn’t like most people. Most people didn’t like him. He was too intense, too angry, too negative, too arrogant, too aggressive. Charles never saw any of that, though. All he saw was a person as quiet as him.

“So have you shagged yet?” someone jeered.

Charles shook his head, beginning to blush. “No,” he said softly.

Everyone looked at him, and seemed to see something on his face and in his posture that made them decide not to tease him any more.

Then, one day, Charles and Erik were doing their homework over lunch when suddenly someone wrapped their arms around Charles from behind.

He would have screamed but his voice was stuck in his throat and everything was darkening and panic was closing his throat and he was shaking and distantly he heard Erik snap, “Let go of him.”

“Why?” the someone asked, not letting go.

“You scared him.”

“What?”

The world was gone and their voices were far away and blood was pounding in his ears and he just wanted to disappear. Memories howled in the cavern of his past like triumphant wolves—

The someone let go very suddenly and Charles could breathe again.

Erik was standing beside him, but not touching him. Charles huddled in on himself, terror still coursing through him. Erik was so tall, he was so strong, he could crush Charles easily—but he didn’t.

“I didn’t do anything!” the someone said angrily.

“You should know better than to grab someone from behind,” Erik snarled.

“I’m okay,” Charles whispered.

“No you’re not,” Erik retorted.

He was right, so Charles didn’t argue. If he was very good and very quiet, maybe everyone would go away and leave him alone.

There was a silence. Charles hung his head, getting his breathing under control. He was very quiet and very good, and eventually the someone said awkwardly, “I’m sorry, Charles,” and walked away.

Erik went back to his seat across from Charles.

“Thank you,” Charles whispered.

“You’re welcome,” Erik murmured.

~

No one touched him after that. He was grateful. He’d learned to hide his revulsion to touch, to keep his muscles still instead of slap hands away or run. But it was hard. So it was nice that no one touched him.

Well. No one touched him until Rupert came to Oxford.

The first time Charles saw Rupert, he turned right around and walked away quickly, ignoring sharp exclamations of surprise behind him. He couldn’t be in the same room as Rupert. He just couldn’t.

The second time, Charles was already sitting down in the packed classroom when Rupert walked in.

Panic consumed him. He kept his head down. Maybe Rupert wouldn’t remember him. Maybe he’d leave Charles alone. Maybe—

“Hey, Charlie!” Rupert’s voice said cheerfully, and a hand landed on his head, mussing his hair. Charles froze. His pencil creaked in his hand. “Fancy seeing you here!”

Charles’ mouth moved, but no sound came out.

“That’s alright, we’ll get you talking soon enough,” Rupert predicted comfortably, and sat in the seat beside Charles.

Charles didn’t remember anything that happened in that class. He was too busy fighting the fear.

He didn’t even remember why he was so scared of Rupert. He just knew that Rupert was one of the reasons he couldn’t remember his years at the boarding school. He felt sick.

Hands holding him down—

When class was dismissed, he couldn’t run. There were too many people in the way, and it was like they were _trying_ to move slowly, trapping Charles here, here where he had to hear Rupert speak, see him move, smell his stench.

“Charles? Are you—“

He couldn’t take any more. He climbed on his desk and shove people out of his way, jumping from desk to desk, ignoring shouts of surprise and anger, trying to get out.  Rupert was laughing.

Charles slammed the door open and sprinted down the hall.

He went straight home. He didn’t even call his other classes to say he wasn’t coming in. He just curled up on his sofa and fought memories.

Someone knocked on his door, but he ignored them.

Another knock, this one more insistent. He whimpered.

The knocker went away. He relaxed, slowly.

Then there came the sound of a key in the lock, and the door was shoved open.

Charles was throwing open the window and halfway through climbing out when he realized it was Erik’s voice saying, “Charles! Charles, it’s okay. It’s just me.”

Charles wrenched his head around, one leg out the window, and stared at Erik. He must’ve looked a sight, because Erik checked and did not move further than the sofa.

“It’s just me,” he repeated gently.

Charles hadn’t cried since he was a child. But he did so now. And he didn’t jerk away or slap Erik’s hand or scream when Erik carefully took hold of his arm and helped him back inside.

They sat on the sofa. Erik didn’t speak. Charles just cried, unable to stop.

Eventually he ran out of tears. He just sat there, breath shuddering. And eventually Erik spoke.

“Can you tell me about it?” Erik asked.

Charles shook his head.

“Okay. Do you want me to leave?”

Charles tried to think about it. But he didn’t think for very long before he shook his head again.

“Okay.”

They sat there in silence for a while.

At one point Erik got up and made tea, and brought a mugful to Charles. Charles drank it. When Erik sat again, Charles reached over and touched the back of Erik’s hand. He turned his hand over. Charles hesitated, then rested his fingertips in Erik’s palm. That was as far as he could go. And Erik accepted that. Charles relaxed.

~

Charles couldn’t avoid Rupert. The bastard seemed to be everywhere. It was like he was _trying_ to haunt and torment Charles.

He followed Charles down the halls. He sat next to Charles in the classes they had together. He talked at Charles at every opportunity. He kept touching Charles, ruffling his hair, patting his shoulder, gripping the back of his neck and shaking him lightly. It was terrifying and Charles often had to hide in the loo and cry.

Slowly, Charles’ friends drifted away. He didn’t know why. He tried desperately to be a better friend, but they all abandoned him. The only person who stayed constant was Erik.

Erik was… well, he was acting protective. He got in Rupert’s way at every opportunity. He blocked Rupert from touching Charles; he spoke over Rupert when he tried to talk to Charles; he even got in a fistfight with Rupert.

That just made Charles’ tormentor more determined when Erik wasn’t around.

One day, though, he snapped.

Rupert was talking to him, keeping up easily as Charles tried to walk fast and get away from him. Then he reached out and grabbed the back of Charles’ neck again.

Charles whipped around and sunk his teeth into Rupert’s hand, tasting blood and feeling his teeth tear through flesh.

“You little FUCK!”

Rupert knocked Charles down and began to kick him viciously, screaming terrible things. Charles curled up on his side and covered his head and went far, far away.

Eventually Rupert was stopped and dragged away. People crowded around Charles and helped him up. Someone gave him their handkerchief; he wiped his eyes and mouth on it. Someone said “I’ll get Erik.”

Charles didn’t even care that people were touching him. He was still far away. None of their touches registered. “I’m alright,” he croaked when someone asked if he was okay.

No one believed him.

Erik came. He saw Charles and his face showed a cold, quiet anger that made everyone except Charles draw away from him.

“I’ll kill him,” Erik said flatly.

Charles didn’t have it in him to say no.

First, though, Erik escorted Charles to the nurse. The nurse clucked her tongue and was very gentle inspecting Charles, but he still flinched.

Then Erik walked with Charles to his classroom, and checked the room to make sure Rupert wasn’t there before letting Charles enter. The other students whispered to each other as Charles went to his seat. He ignored the whispers. If he kept very quiet and was very good, maybe they would leave him alone.

He could still taste blood.

~

Rupert was not expelled. He wasn’t even moved out of classes with Charles. So Charles stopped going to those classes.

Oh, he did the class- and homework, and he listened to the recorded lessons, but he refused to be in the same room as Rupert. He was starting to remember. And his memories hurt.

Erik came to check on him regularly. He was Charles’ only friend, only constant, the only person who understood. Charles was relieved that he understood.

But finally, the strain was too much.

Charles didn’t know what set him off. He only knew that one minute he was writing an essay and the next he was sobbing so hard he couldn’t breathe and the professor was escorting him out of the classroom.

“Go to the guidance counselor,” the professor ordered.

Charles went home instead.

And he didn’t come back.

~

Erik found him before he bled out. Erik called an ambulance. Erik held his hand until the paramedics arrived.

Charles hated him for it.

But he didn’t say that. Not even when he woke up in the hospital with bandaged arms, two IVs, a mess of cards and flowers on the little table, and a doctor looming over him.

The doctor and nurses were nice, even if they did touch him too much. They wouldn’t let anyone visit, because he didn’t have any family. He thought one of them said something about a tall German fellow stopping by daily to ask about him. He wasn’t sure.

When they let him out, he didn’t tell anyone. He just went to his flat and stayed there. When he ran out of food, he went to the shop and bought some bread and peanut butter and milk. Then he went home again.

He spent days far far away from his body, not thinking, not feeling, not knowing how much time had passed. Sometimes he was more aware and sometimes not. He just… drifted.

Erik came by, but Charles screamed at him to fuck off and go away and he did.

Charles cried all that night.

Someone from the university called. He talked to them only long enough to say that he wasn’t coming back. No one from work even seemed to notice he was gone. That was fine.

He was so tired.

He tried to kill himself again, but this time the landlord found him. They put him in an asylum.

He didn’t remember that place very well.

~

“I love you.”

Charles stared at Erik, still hazy.

Erik looked like he was going to cry. “I love you,” he repeated. “I’ve loved you since day one.”

“Oh,” Charles said softly. He wasn’t sure what else to say.

“I’m so sorry,” Erik whispered, voice cracking.

Charles didn’t know how to reply. So he didn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments = Life, Love, and Happiness


End file.
